Elements
by BloodFromTheThorn
Summary: The team face threats all the time and each of them has a weakness. Chapter one: AIR - It was all Ethan's fault. Yeah, it's totally his fault that Brandt was captured. Warnings for swears.
1. Air

_This is inspired by the wonderful __**Red Tigress' **__fic Rope, within the collection of 'Ten More Songs about Brandt.' Go read it, it's awesome. This fic will be four chapters and each will focus on one member of the team. So without further ado, here's Brandt._

_**Warnings for swears. **_

* * *

It should have been a simple mission: get in, find and copy the shipping manifest and the haul ass out of there before anyone knew there was a disturbance. But of course, it wasn't that easy; Brandt had quickly learned that around Ethan Hunt, nothing was ever straight forwards.

He had infiltrated the building without incident, avoiding all the guards with the help of Benji, who had managed to piggyback the surveillance cameras. The documents he needed weren't as well guarded as they could have been and getting into the right office was practically child's play. Manifests copied with another eye camera – god he hated these things – and all he had to do was get out of the building without being seen.

The plan (which Ethan had created, meaning that Brandt was perfectly justified in blaming it all on him) had been to slip into the air vents and make his way to the roof where he could jump to the next building and climb down the fire escape without being seen. What this plan hadn't accounted for however was the idea that this drug cartel wasn't comprised entirely of morons and they had actually planned for such a scenario: the vents were booby trapped.

He had been crawling through the claustrophobic space, cussing at Benji over the comms as the technician was being thoroughly unsympathetic to his plight and then suddenly he was surrounded with the sound of muffled explosions and the vent around him was falling. For a split second the analyst hung in the air, panic racing through him despite his training and then he was hitting the floor with a crash, smacking his head against the metal casing just as the whole thing broke open. He was dazed for a moment before he was able to command his protesting body out of the tangle of metal plates bringing him face to face with the muzzle of a semi-automatic. He cursed fluently in Portuguese – in situations like this, it was best to deny any ties to the United States.

Benji was babbling at him in panic over the comm. link but the analyst blocked him out, letting his training kick itself into gear. There were two men in front of him and he could hear at least another one behind him – he was outnumbered. That wouldn't be so much of a problem, except the two men he could see were both armed and it was a safe assumption that the third man was too – there was no way he could reach for his own weapon or attack without being shot. Damn.

"Well, well. What have we here?" The deep voice came from behind him and Brandt rolled over slowly to look at the man talking.

The analyst recognised him in a heartbeat. Sebastian Letrova, a general within the cartel and number eight on Interpol's most wanted list for crimes against humanity. The guy was a complete psychopath; IMF had been itching to put a bullet in him for years now.

The silence stretched as Brandt refused to answer, settling instead for glaring at the men surrounding him. In his mind he was mapping out escape routes, the memorised plans of the building flashing behind his eyes – the whole thing was moot though unless he could get away from these four men. Without getting shot. He was going to _kill _Ethan.

It wasn't until the men approached him that the analyst realised that Benji had fallen completely silent and Brandt found himself almost missing the chipper voice in his ear telling him not to worry. He was dragged unceremoniously down endless corridors but not once did he lose himself – he was confident that he could still find his way out of the building without difficulty.

"_Where are you taking me?" _He asked after a moment, sticking to Portuguese and making his voice sound afraid. Maybe he could make them believe he was just a thief looking for a lucky break – it was a bit of a long shot but he hadn't got much to lose.

"You'll see," Letrova replied in English, though an accent from his native Bulgaria bled through. The analyst blinked at him as though he didn't understand and the general laughed at him. "Please, let us not pretend. I know that you are American just as well as you do, William."

That stopped him short. Brandt ground to a halt, planting his feet for a second before a gun was jabbed against his spine forcing him forwards again. In hindsight he shouldn't have responded, it only proved his guilt.

"_I don't understand," _he tried.

"_Of course you do. Must we really play this game Agent Brandt?" _The general switched to the same language, smirking at the analyst with a similar expression to that of a cat toying with a mouse. He didn't have time to respond to that before he was dragged into a small room and dumped into a chair. His hands had been bound behind his back but there was nothing holding him down.

All but one of the guards and Letrova left the room, leaving the agent at the general's mercy. Where the hell was Ethan? He was meant to be his backup.

'_If I die because of you Hunt, I swear to whatever gods are out there that I will come back and haunt your ass,' _he vowed to himself silently.

"So William. Can we converse in English now? Or would you prefer to keep pretending?" There was a hiss of venom in his tone that bit at the analyst but it was carefully covered with a layer of civility that was really quite creepy. Pyschopath indeed.

"_Well, I did always want to be an actor," _he shot back, refusing to switch languages, even if he had just given it away by understanding the question. The punch to his jaw was harder than he would have expected from a man of Letrova's size but Brandt had endured far worse; he didn't make a noise.

"I need to know why you came here. What did you hope to achieve?"

"_You're going to kill me," _he pointed out flatly. He left out the obvious 'why should I tell you anything?'

"How about a deal then? You tell me what I want to know and you can die quickly."

"_Well you sure know how to charm a guy," _the analyst remarked earning him another punch, in the gut time. Brandt had to gasp a little as the breath left his lungs in a rush.

Letrova snapped something in Bulgarian to his henchman who got to work with something behind the analyst's back; he didn't dare turn around to see what was going on but he listened carefully regardless, mentally cursing the fact that Bulgarian was one of the few languages he had no knowledge of at all.

"Are you going to tell me?"

"_Is it going to make any difference to me?"_

"Yes."

"Then, no," he replied with a grin, switching to English for the first time. Another punch to the gut.

"Fine. It does not matter. I have sources that can keep me informed of any information your government may have on me and my associates."

"So I'm done here?" Brandt could feel his heart speeding up at the sudden appearance of a real threat – or an immediate one, he had been in danger this whole time – and he watched the finality of Letrova's expression carefully.

"It would seem so Agent Brandt," the general said, his voice cold. That barely had time to process before a rope was being forced over the analyst's head where it tightened around his neck live a vice, hauling him upwards. He kicked out on instinct and the chair he had been sat on went flying but Brandt couldn't get away, couldn't fight and he was completely helpless as he felt his feet losing contact with the floor.

He was being hanged. Letrova, the bastard, was watching him get hanged with a fucking smile on his fucking face. Benji was talking again – '_finally, where the _hell _have you been?!' _– with words of encouragement, telling him that help was on the way, just calm down, you can do this.

'_You know what Benji? Go to hell. And stay there. Calm down?! I can't breathe, are you fucking insane?' _His mind was screaming wildly and he was too terrified to try and listen to his training that was still babbling instructions in the back of his mind, sounding more like Jane than he would have expected. Letrova was still there with a look of smug satisfaction while Brandt's legs flailed, looking for a surface to take his weight but coming up empty.

For all his panicking and complete lack of composure, Brandt's training hadn't been for nothing; he could hold his breath for almost four minutes and it was paying off. That said, his vision was fading into a dull grey blur that jerked randomly by the time he heard something that wasn't Letrova laughing at his fear. His world of grey suddenly erupted with colour as red began to coat the general's chest, dripping to the floor and pooling around him. It took the man an age to fall, his face blank with surprise and even as he began to lose his sight, Brandt felt a spike of pleasure at knowing the bastard had died before he did.

The analyst was vaguely aware of someone at his side and then suddenly the rope around his neck was gone. He dropped to the ground like a stone, his legs thoroughly unprepared to take his weight but arms snatched at him before he faceplanted; a small part of his mind was grateful. The rest of him was just too busy being preoccupied with the fact he could _breathe. _There was air. And he could _breathe._

Somewhere between the rope and the ground his eyes had slipped closed and he blinked them open again, trying to work out what was going on. Lack of oxygen did _not _help his higher brain functions.

"Eth..." He was able to stutter when he saw his fellow agent hovering above him, halfway to looking concerned.

"Yeah, I'm here. Just breathe Will," he ordered, moving to untie Brandt's hands. Maybe Ethan was actually a little worried – he _never _called him by his first name.

Time faded for a moment as the analyst let go of everything, just focusing on the flow of air in and out of his lungs, relishing the cool flush it brought to his burning chest. That had been far, far too close. As soon as he was able to speak, he voiced that opinion.

"Where the... _hell _have you been?" He huffed angrily, opening his eyes again to glare at Ethan. The other agent blinked at him.

"In case you'd forgotten, you're sat in the middle of a highly secure facility. I couldn't just stroll in the front door." That reminded him.

"Shouldn't we be... getting out of... here?"

"Benji and Jane have it covered for now. We have another minute or two."

"Tha- Thank you," he murmured, blinking again to clear the last of the fogginess from his vision. His head was much clearer but he could feel a migraine looming; he wanted to be out of there before it hit. Ethan noticed Brandt rousing himself and helped the agent up, taking most of his weight when the analyst was overcome with a bout of dizziness.

"You alright?" Brandt nodded. "Come on then."

The analyst was more than happy to let Ethan take the lead and he followed the team leader out of the compound without much further conflict. Over the next few days the others would look at the black bruises around his neck and silently curse how close it had been but none of them ever commented on it. They had made it and in their line of work that _had _to be enough. They couldn't ask for anything more.

Brandt went on many missions, faced countless deaths and it never phased him. But that mission? He wouldn't forget. The helplessness, the terror, the absolute knowledge that his death was coming, slowly and painfully and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He would remember. And if he found himself making Ethan random cups of coffee in silent thanks? He wasn't going to mention it.

* * *

_All credit for the storyline goes to __**Red Tigress. **__Now go and read her story too. Don't know what update time on this will be. Probably terrible, sorry.  
_

_To readers of my other stories, I haven't died. I shall be back with new chapters soon, I swear it.  
_

_Thanks :)_


	2. Water

_This should not have taken such a ridiculous amount of time. My most sincere apologies._

_This was written on a tablet with a spell check that has __tourettes_ _so please tell me if anything doesn't make sense or just has missing words._

* * *

When Ethan hit the water he was expecting the cold. He expected the way it would feel like he was being stabbed a thousand times, the way his fingers and toes would feel like they were trying to detach from his body. But knowing what was coming didn't stop the breath being knocked out of him when his head was pulled beneath the waves.

He knew that he had fight back but his limbs felt like lead under the influence of the drug they had forced into his system and his entire body was seized with crushing fatigue.

_'Fight it Ethan,' _he told himself sternly. _'You'll die if you don't.' _With great effort he was able to kick out, pushing his head above the water for half a second before he was dragged back down by the overwhelming current but it was enough to buy him a few more moments.

When a line of bubbles whipped past him he was surprised enough that some precious air escaped as he instinctively tried to shout. Mentally cursing his own stupidity he tried to think past the haze in his brain to work out what was going on. When he'd gone into the water there had been men on the dock - the ones that pushed him - and by breaching the surface to breathe he'd told them exactly where he was. And now they were trying to shoot him.

_'What, I wasn't drowning fast enough for you?' _He could admit to himself that he was panicking, even though all his training told him that was the worst thing he could do in this situation. Whatever was pumping through his system was messing with his head as well as his body.

Ethan knew that he had to breathe again soon or he was going to pass out but he couldn't risk another trip to the surface without cover - something that was a little lacking in the open harbour.

Everything was graying out but he didn't really mind. He probably should but the drug seemed to bring a great calming sensation with it; if he survived, he could totally get into a narcotic like this. Except IMF probably wouldn't approve, but he could work out the details later. For reasons that didn't really make sense and he didn't quite understand that thought was hilarious to him and he laughed without thinking, ceasing abruptly as freezing water poured down his throat.

_'Keep it together!' _The coherent part of his mind that he usually listened to was shrieking at him, trying desperately to fight off the drug. His lungs burned as they begged for oxygen but he had no energy left to force himself to the surface, guns or no guns.

It was remarkably peaceful under the waves once you got past the blistering cold; the only thing he could hear was the rush of water and a gentle hum that he couldn't quite place but took great comfort from none the less. Everything was fading into a dull blur now, twisting shapes and patterns that danced in this underwater grave of his.

There was a nagging in the back of his mind that he couldn't seem to block out, something about a team perhaps? Faces he thought he should remember drifted in front of him: a thin, bookish man, a beautiful woman and another man, this one muscled and strong. Friends of his? It was too hard to remember and the details kept slipping away from him like smoke, taunting him from the brink of his mind.

With idle curiosity he watched as the last few bubbles trickled from his mouth and floated away from him.

_'So beautiful,' _he thought softly. It was the last thought he had before the darkness overcame him in a rush of glorious peace.

* * *

From the vantage point he was hidden in Brandt could see the men sneaking up on Ethan and was only just able to warn him in time. He saw his team leader fight back like a cornered tiger, vicious and strong. He held his own well until one of the attackers, a small, agile man rushed Ethan from behind, getting beneath his defence just long enough to sink what looked suspiciously like a syringe into his arm before the agent reacted with a well placed elbow, sending the man sprawling. By then Jane and Benji had almost reached Ethan to help out but Brandt just knew they weren't going to get there in time. With muted horror he watched as his team leader - his friend - was sent staggering over the edge of the dock, dropping under the waves without a sound.

Brandt didn't think. He threw himself from his hiding place, gun in hand and raced towards the men before ducking into cover to avoid gunfire. With a sickening lurch he realised that one of the men was firing into the water, right at where Ethan had gone under. Shooting back he took out three of the attackers but he could see another two and he was almost certain that there were others scattered around the area. Thinking about it he hadn't heard from the rest of the team for a few minutes and panic shot through him like ice.

"Benji, Jane! Are you alright?" The minute it took for the reply to come through felt like an age.

"We're under fire but unhurt," Jane's voice informed him. "Brandt, where's Ethan?" She sounded urgent and the analyst was suddenly struck with a decision. If he went after a potentially drowning man he'd be leaving the rest of the team without back up, but if he didn't Ethan could die.

"He needs help," he replied eventually, managing to take out another man with a well aimed shot. "Can you handle them?"

"We'll be fine!" Benji snapped at him, annoyed. "Help Ethan!"

That was all the analyst needed before he was moving, diving out of cover and taking down the final man between him and the water before throwing himself as fast as he could towards the edge of the dock

The first dive knocked the breath out of him as icy needles drove their way to the bone but he kicked himself down anyway, eyes seeking out the form below him. When he reached Ethan he didn't stop to see the state of him before wrapping strong arms around his torso and pushing them both upwards again.

As they broke the surface he was greeted by the sight of Benji hovering above them, faced lined with concern.

"Help me," Brandt ordered, dragging Ethan's dead weight close enough for the technician to pull him out the water. The team leader hadn't shown any sign of responsiveness and the analyst could feel fear building up in his gut.

Once Ethan was safely out of the water, Brandt hauled himself up too in time to see Jane rush over, her gun still in her hand.

"I think we're safe for now but there'll be more on the way I'm sure," she told them even as she started checking over Ethan. Benji moved back out of the way, clearing the space for Jane, their stand in medic. "He's not breathing," she said after a second, her voice tinged with just the slightest panic that most would notice. Brandt praised her composure. "You know CPR?"

He nodded and took up position next to Ethan, starting compressions and trying his very hardest not to focus on anything but the rhythm of the movement. Ethan was not going to die. He _wasn't. _Jane matched his beat, forcing air into unresponsive lungs while keeping two fingers on his neck, desperate to find that pulse.

Two cycles later and there were tears rolling silently down Jane's face while Benji looked away under the pretence of watching their backs. For his part Brandt just felt numb, and it was nothing to do with the cold. This man lying motionless before him had given him his life back, it was only fair he returned the favour, if only he would just _wake up. _

And then there was a shuddering gasp that they all felt and he _did. _On instinct Ethan rolled sideways - ending up in Jane's lap - as his body rocked and heaved, expelling more water than Brandt would have thought possible. For several minutes the attack continued before Ethan seemed to come back to himself slightly, rolling and glancing up at them all. It was only at that point that Brandt noticed his pupils were blown wide, eyes wild and unfocused.

"Ethan? Ethan you have to listen to me. You've been drugged but we need to get out of here. We're not safe. You understand?" He nodded slowly, eyes flickering around again as he tried to orientate himself.

Jane helped the analyst pull Ethan to his feet and they took an arm each, supporting the unsteady man as they made their escape. As soon as they reached the van they had stached he was woozy again and on the brink of passing out but he clung on to consciousness long enough for them to bundle him into the back.

"Benji, you drive. Get us to a hospital."

"Is that wise? There'll be men looking for us." Annoying as it was, he had a point. They couldn't really risk it but Ethan could have any manner of horrible drug pumping through him and the thought of doing nothing made Brandt feel ill.

Seeing his indecision Jane stepped in. "Get us to a motel. We can call for backup from there."

Nodding his thanks Brandt scrambled into the vehicle, praying that they'd made the right decision.

* * *

As it turned out, they had. Whatever they'd given Ethan it didn't seem to last long. Ten hours later and he was sat up in the motel bed, being fussed over by Jane, much to Brandt's open amusement.

"Laugh it up why don't you," Ethan hissed at him but the rasp in his voice muted the venom somewhat. Brandt laughed aloud.

"I think I will," he told him with a wide smile. "'Sides, I saved your sorry ass. You owe me right about now." For half a minute Ethan just looked pissy but then he softened and nodded slightly.

"I guess I do. Thank you for that by the way. All of you," he said, looking around at Benji and Jane too, his face earnest. It was that look that made the analyst suddenly understand: Ethan was used to being the one doing the saving. Being on the receiving end was strange for him.

"You'd do the same for us. Don't mention it."

And so they didn't. In fact, the whole ordeal wasn't really brought up again, except for occasional blackmail purposes by Brandt that Ethan hated and Benji thought secretly was hilarious. It took Ethan a few weeks to comfortably deal with swimming but eventually his natural athleticism won out over his nerves and he returned to the sport without further incident.

The next time they had a mission near the docks, Brandt didn't complain when he was cast as the bait.


End file.
